Getting Over You
by Tropical Medlies
Summary: The last time you referred to her like she was just in the other room, Rachel gave you the kind of look usually reserved for old people eating alone at the diner, and the last thing you need is Rachel freaking Berry giving you pity. One-shot.


You weren't ever sure you were going to get over Brittany.

So much of your life is rooted in her, with her, that sometimes you can't figure out where you start and she ends in your memories. When the two of you were five, Brittany's father commented on how you were extensions of one another. How one wasn't ever very far from the other, and how he had never seen two people so attuned to one another. There were couples who had been together for sixty, seventy years that didn't work as well together as you and Brittany did.

You got to thinking that life didn't exist without her. You were Brittany and Santana; Santana and Brittany. You weren't yourself when she wasn't around, and she was far from functioning without you by her side. Separation anxiety was nowhere near strong enough a word to describe what you went through when you didn't see her. This time, it was your father who likened you to a lost, scared puppy that had been away from its master for far too long.

Even though you worked like a well-oiled machine, even though you knew her thoughts and she finished your sentences, and even though you had been B & S since diapers, starting your relationship was so much more difficult than you ever could have imagined. You wasted nights alone in your room, staring up at the stars that Brittany had stuck there haphazardly in the third grade – they had lost their luminescence, but you didn't have the heart to take them down. Something about a bare ceiling made your chest ache.

You knew that you wanted her more than anything in the entire world. You knew that you had her, but not in the ways that mattered the most. Thinking about what you did to her in that stretch of uncertain time – it makes you want to vomit and beat your fists against the wall at the same time. Every word, every action, every person that got between you and her is something that you'll regret for the rest of your life. What you regret most, however, is how it ended.

Brittany is still your best friend. You tell yourself this over and over, and every time it sounds hollow, like you're reading lines for a play that you have to make someone else believe. It doesn't matter if you believe it, it just matters that the audience buys it. So you write home to your parents, tell them that you talk to Brittany pretty regularly, and sometimes Quinn, too, and that New York is great. They know that you guys have broken up, and for that they are sincerely sorry, but your _mami_ tells you that she always knew you could do better, and your _papi_ offers to set you up with a colleague's daughter (who, despite being very nice, is about as attractive as beige wallpaper). You decline, saying that you work far too much for a relationship.

One night, you find yourself having drunk a little too much with Rachel and Kurt. You find yourself alone in your room with your phone in your hand. You find your thumb hovering over her name.

You find yourself calling her.

She doesn't pick up, and so you hang up without leaving a voicemail. If you know Brittany, and you know you do, she'll call you back as soon as she sees the missed call. She has never once not returned a call from you in as long as you've known her. She has hidden in bathrooms at family gatherings; she has ignored dates; and she once made up a ridiculous excuse about not wearing the right underwear on a test day in order to leave class so that she could talk to you. Brittany is one hundred percent going to call you back.

It's the one thing you can count on in life. That, and death, but that's far less appealing.

It doesn't occur to you until the next weekend, when you're equally as drunk, that Brittany never even texted you.

You take her not contacting you as a sign to get on with your life. And you try, you really do, but it's hard when even the sight of your favorite mug brings back memories of Brittany trying to make you breakfast in bed and smothering you in coffee-flavored kisses. (You break the mug and claim that it was an accident. Rachel doesn't seem convinced as she bandages your wounded hand. Kurt disposes of the remains without comment.)

The idea of dating in New York doesn't cross your mind. You had a few flings before you left school, and you've had more than your fair share of women give you their numbers, but none of them capture your attention like Brittany does. Did. You always remind yourself to speak of her in the past tense, because the last time you referred to her like she was just in the other room, Rachel gave you the kind of look usually reserved for old people eating alone at the diner, and the last thing you need is _Rachel freaking Berry _giving you pity.

Besides, you think that life alone might be fun. Plenty of strong, independent women made it through without anyone else, and if they could do it, so could you. You come to this decision shortly before one of your shifts, and you tell Kurt with the sort of enthusiasm that accompanies a groundbreaking scientific discovery. He just nods his head, and you can see the question of Brittany behind his eyes. He knows to keep quiet, and for that you are grateful.

Your _mami _always told you to expect things when you least wanted them, and so you should have suspected that your newfound peace with the perma-single life should have been a huge sign for things to come. And by things, you mean Dani.

Dani is taking an order when you arrive at the diner, and you actually manage to walk into the bar as you stare at her, slack-jawed. You like to think that she doesn't notice.

You don't even have time to ask your boss who she is before he assigns you the task of working with her and training her for the day. She introduces herself with so much cheer that you feel like your chest might explode then and there, and you're sure that you sound like an idiot when you reply.

"Santana? Awesome name. I have one of those guitars," she says, flashing you a smile. When you hear that she's musically inclined, well, it does something to your lady parts.

You don't like to dwell on how things happened, because you're totally a "here and now" kind of girl. Or that's what you like to tell yourself. Much like saying you and Brittany are still friends, saying that you don't spend an inordinate amount of time in the past is kind of a lie.

Still, it's nice that you don't have to think too much about being with Dani. This time, Dani comes after you, with a sweet, chaste kiss (the kind that you and Brittany hardly ever shared – there was always something of urgency behind your kisses, even the pecks). She makes you feel wanted without a doubt, and safe beyond anything you've ever felt.

She is unabashed in who she is, unrivaled in her multiple talents, and knows exactly what to do to be the most perfect girlfriend you can think of. Flowers delivered to your apartment become normal, to the point where Kurt is jealous. For being a struggling artist working as a waitress, Dani pulls together some incredible dates for the two of you that leave you on the verge of tears with just how thoughtful she is. She even manages to turn you into a bit of a homebody, content with takeout, Netflix, and your girl next to you.

The first time that you call her "your girl," it's in the middle of a heated "discussion" between you and one of the older customers that frequent the Spotlight. The man has the balls to tell her to hurry her "perky little ass" up, and you have the balls to tell him that he better apologize or he's going to find the sharp end of his knife real close to his eye.

You get severely reprimanded and almost fired, and it's only because of Rachel, Kurt, and Dani's begging that you aren't, but it's worth it when Dani flashes a smile big enough to dimple her chin and gives you a tight hug in the break room.

What you had with Brittany was love. Pure, unadulterated, unconditional love; the kind that comes from knowing someone so intimately that they become a part of you. You will always love Brittany that way, and Dani knows this. Dani has had her own Brittany in her own world pre-New York

"Nothing matters before us, okay? All of those exes and crushes and flings –

" Here, she pauses, playfully glaring at you. Dani is not the type to have flings, and the fact that you have more than a few under your belt amuses her to no end. "They don't matter, because right now, we're Dani and Sani."

You groan at the nickname and smile at the sentiment. Dani is the kind of girl you can see yourself falling in love with for the long run. She's the kind of girl that you see a large house with a white picket fence, two point five kids, a dog, and a mini-van some day.

When you think back to what you and Brittany had, you realize that even though you said things like "Brittany will always be my girlfriend," and you talked about your future together, it wasn't written in the stars. You were too different and would always be. You may have been extensions of one another, but that didn't mean that you would end up in the same place. It reminds you of the time you were kids, roaming the streets of Lima in the middle of summer. You were hot and sweaty and bored, and somehow Brittany found the two of you a cool tree to rest under.

_"What makes the birds go away when it gets cold, San?" _

_ You don't know, but you pride yourself on being a fountain of knowledge, even at the age of nine. "It's 'cause they're born that way, Britt."_

_ "They just know where to go?" _

_ "Yeah. Kind of like how Lord Tubbington always knows when your mom is going to feed him before she even gets out his food, you know?" _

_ Brittany flips over to face you. "Like how we knew we were always gonna be friends?" Her pinky finds yours in the dry summer grass, and her blue eyes bore into the side of your face. _

_ "Just like that."_

Dani smells like peppermint and cool December air when she greets you at your apartment door early on Christmas morning with a paper tray full of coffee and your favorite donuts. "Merry Christmas!" she chirps, dropping a kiss on your cheek and making her way into the apartment. Kurt and Rachel aren't there – they've gone home to be with their families – and so it's just the two of you. Your parents invited you, and Dani by proxy, home for the holidays, but you told them that you couldn't get the time off. Really, you just wanted alone time with your girlfriend.

"I figured we could do a movie marathon today after presents. How does that sound? Anything you want to watch, babe," Dani calls over her shoulder as she sets down stuff.

The scene eerily reminds you of the many Christmases you spent with Brittany, and how the blonde would get up before you to go see what Santa left before coming back upstairs with a mug of hot chocolate to wake you. For a minute, there's a pang of sadness in your chest; for the first time in months, you miss Brittany. You miss her ridiculous stories, and you miss her family, and you miss how she would have already known what movies to get without you even asking.

You weren't ever sure you would get over Brittany, and now, standing in your apartment in New York, thousands of miles away from her, with your new girlfriend holding your favorite kind of coffee and looking at you like you're the best present that she could have ever asked for, you realize that you _can't_ get over Brittany.

You can't get over her blue eyes and her blonde hair; you can't get over how everything means something about her to you; and you can't get over how she follows you around without having spoken to you in months. You can't get over someone who is so inextricably a part of you.

It hits you like a fist to the gut, but it's not a blood-chilling, panic attack-inducing epiphany. It's sort of comforting, in a way. A very fucked up way, you realize, but it's like all of the pressure to move on and forget that Brittany ever existed is off of your shoulders. All at once, you feel yourself settle back into your body in a way that you haven't since you two broke up. You feel mysteriously whole again.

Later, halfway through a viewing of _Love, Actually, _your phone buzzes and you pick it up out of instinct. It's from Brittany, and all it reads is, _Merry Christmas, San. I miss you. _

You don't make a big deal of it, not even when Dani offers to pause the movie so that you can go and call Brittany. Dani is so much more understanding than you ever will be, and it makes you wonder why she chose you. You eventually tap out a message, turn your phone off, and snuggle back into Dani's side to finish the movie.

_Miss you too, Britt. Merry Christmas. _


End file.
